


The One Where It's Halloween

by orphan_account



Category: letsplay, markiplier - Fandom, youtube - Fandom
Genre: F/M, markiplier imagines, markiplier preferences, markiplier smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 09:03:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7795663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Mark!” you yell up the stairs, adjusting your tight spandex top. “C’mon! We’re gonna be late!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Where It's Halloween

“Mark!” you yell up the stairs, adjusting your tight spandex top. “C’mon! We’re gonna be late!”

“Can you come up here?” Mark hollers. His tone errs on desperation, so you sigh and make your way up the stairs, trying not to trip over your bright red pumps in the process.

“What’s wrong?” you peak your head in the bedroom you share with Mark. He’s standing in front of the full-length mirror next to your closet with a frown on his face and a small black comb in his right hand.

“I look stupid,” he mumbles. He meets your eyes in the mirror and turns around so that he’s facing you. “You look fuckin’ hot and I look dumb as shit.”

You smile and make your way towards him. You place your hands on his shoulders, barely taller than you are without the heels. “Babe,” you shake him slightly, the faux-leather of his jacket squeaking under your grasp. “You don’t look dumb. You look fuckin’ hot, too. You don’t think _I_ feel a little stupid? I mean, I’m covered in spandex and my tits are halfway out. It’s a little ridiculous.”

Mark looks down at your chests and wiggles his eyebrows at the view. It makes you laugh, but you move to cover your cleavage in a moment of self-consciousness.

“Why’d we agree to do this again?” he groans, sticking his face in your chest and grumbling.

You chuckle and lift his head from your breasts, squeezing your hands into his cheeks. “Because Matthias and Amanda are our best friends, and Matthias is _super_ excited about tonight,” you explain. “Plus, you look damn good as a greaser. You’re literally the Danny to my Sandy.”

“At least we get to be Danny and Sandy instead of Rizzo and Kenickie,” he shrugs, his voice warped by your hands pressing into his cheeks.

“C’mon,” you wrap your arms around him in a hug. “We’ll just get really drunk and forget that we look like this. Besides, Matthias and Amanda probably look just as ridiculous. And isn’t that the point?! It’s Halloween!”

—

You both stumble into your foyer, the noise of the front door slamming behind you reverberating behind you.

“Shhh,” Mark giggles, pressing an index finger to his lips. “You gotta be quiet!”

“Babe,” you snort, leaning on his shoulder. “We are the only two who live here. We don’t have to be quiet!”

“Oh my god,” he gasps, as if suddenly remembering that the two of you share a home together. “You’re right. We _are_ the only two who live here!”

“I know,” you nod into his neck. “It’s wonderful, isn’t it?”

“It makes me horny,” Mark states as he leans back onto the closed door. You stagger into him, your back pressed up against him. You giggle at his remark and throw your head back so it’s on his right shoulder.

“Why?”

“Because we can do whatever we want and be as loud as we want when we do it,” he breathes into your ear as his hands make his way down your body, the tight spandex of your costume the only barrier between him and his lithe fingers.

“Oh?” you sigh breathily as you place your hands on top of his. The warmth radiating off of his body seeps its way through your skin and makes itself comfortable in your core. “And what would we be doing?”

Mark continues to move his hands up and down your torso as he begins to kiss your neck. He doesn’t respond to your question with a verbal answer, but instead pauses at your shoulder and bites your skin gently.

With the combination of alcohol running through you veins and Mark’s slow assault on your skin, you begin to feel electrified. It’s like a current has started to run through your body, a dull hum launching in the pit of your stomach and echoing through you; no neuron unlit, no sense unawaken.

“Baby,” he moans into your ear, causing the hair on the back of your neck to raise. “You’re so beautiful.”

Your torso leans back into him as a response, which causes the two of you to whimper, his hands continuing to move down your body. You arch your back into him as his fingers make his way under your black spandex leggings.

“You looked so good tonight,” you whisper into his neck as his fingers inch their way down your pelvis. Your ass arches into his crotch, and through the veil of your costume lashes, you can see your boyfriend bite his lower lip at the friction.

“I wondered if you were wearing anything under these,” he says. His breath smells of cinnamon whisky, always his preferred beverage. You grind onto his lap once again, forcing him further into the back of the door. “I’m so fucking happy you’re not. You’re a good girl.”

As you reach your left arm around to the back of his head, he holds your neck with his free hand to keep you steady. You run your fingers through his slick-backed hair, the leather of both of your jackets grinding against each other’s. He gently applies pressure to your jugular, which causes you to moan in response.

“Yes, baby,” you plead.

He begins circling his finger around your most sensitive area, causing you to buck against his hand in an erratic set of movements. You yank the hair on the back of his head as he applies more pressure to your neck. The alcohol disrupts your ability to maintain control, and before you know it, you’re sobbing with a pleasure only Mark can give you.

You remove yourself from his embrace after panting against him for a few moments. You can feel how crazy your hair looks, and you can tell by the look on his face how wild your eyes must be. You slowly walk backwards to the stairs, your heels clicking on the tile while you beckon your boyfriend with your index finger.

“Fuck,” he growls, as if in pain. “I really need to fuck you.”

“Tell me about it, stud,” you say, winking at him as you run up the stairs.


End file.
